


Don't See Nothing Wrong

by miss_begonia



Series: Glee Wolf [2]
Category: Glee RPF, Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Drinking, Fingerfucking, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You really are good at that,” Dylan says, echoing his thoughts.</p><p>“Good at what, exactly?” Chris says, lifting one finger to his mouth and licking it, which makes Dylan’s eyelashes flutter.</p><p>“All of it,” Dylan sighs. “All of it. All the parts.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't See Nothing Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from R Kelly’s “Bump and Grind.” Yeah.

Chris really hates his friends.  
  
“He’s  _younger_  than you?” Lea exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest like she’s some kind of shocked Victorian. “How is that even possible? Is he in middle school?”  
  
Cory coughs into his hand, and Chris knows he’s hiding laughter, which is not on. Cory’s supposed to be on his side always.  
  
“He’s not in middle school,” Chris says. “He’s barely younger than me, he’s twenty.”  
  
“Oh God, he can’t even drink,” Lea says. “He’s not even  _legal_ , Cory.”  
  
“He’s legal, he’s just not of drinking age,” Chris says. “He’s almost twenty-one, and I am only twenty-two, that’s – it’s, like, I don’t even know why I’m defending myself right now.”  
  
Lea looks like she’s ready to say something else, but Chris’s phone buzzes. He holds up a hand, grateful for the interruption.  
  
 _Speak of the devil_.   
  
Dylan’s texted him:  _we are shooting a scene where posey has to say the word ‘moist’ and he can’t say it without laughing and i might kill him._  
  
Chris snorts. When he looks up, Lea and Cory are staring at him.  
  
“Oh, shut up,” he tells them.  
  
“This is serious,” Lea says. “Like, more serious than the guy with the boots.”  
  
“I thought that guy was great in bed,” Cory says.  
  
“Apparently he was too experienced,” Lea says, lifting her eyebrows.  
  
“I hate my life,” Chris says, and stomps off to his trailer, where he closes the door, sits down and types:  _i hate my life._  
  
 _aw, dude, but you’re awesome,_  Dylan texts back.  _is somebody being mean to you?  
  
lea is a bitch_ , Chris says.  
  
 _well, you could always introduce her to posey_ , Dylan replies.  _that’s a revenge in itself._  
  
*  
  
“I work with a bunch of idiots,” Chris tells Dylan over the phone later that night. He’s lying on his bed in pajama pants and a t-shirt, flicking through channels on the TV with the sound off.   
  
“Posey tried to do a stunt today and fell on his face,” Dylan says. “Like – he actually fell on his face. He has a bruise on his cheek.”  
  
Chris hears some muffled sounds, and then Dylan says, “Shut up and go on your date, freak.”  
  
“I don’t have a date,” Chris says.  
  
“Sorry, Posey is still here,” Dylan says. “Apparently it’s really important which shirt he wears even though  _all his shirts are the same_.”  
  
Chris is pretty sure he hears a couple distinct curse words that time.  
  
There’s some static and a couple of thumps, and then Dylan says, “I’m in my room now. Away from at least one of the idiots I work with.”  
  
“Are you saying you’re somewhere private?” Chris asks.  
  
“More private than my living room,” Dylan says. “I wish I had my own place, man. I have money now, why don’t I have my own place?”  
  
“Probably because you don’t want to live by yourself?” Chris says. “It can be kind of lonely.”  
  
“Are you lonely?” Dylan asks.  
  
“I can’t be lonely, I’m talking to you,” Chris says.  
  
Dylan sounds pleased when he says, “Glad to be useful.”  
  
“There are other ways you could be useful,” Chris says.  
  
“Oh, really?” Dylan says. His voice is deeper.  
  
“You could organize my closet,” Chris says. “It’s a mess.”  
  
Dylan laughs. “You don’t even want to see my closet. There’s shit in there that’s – I don’t even know what’s in my closet.”  
  
“I don’t want to see your closet,” Chris says. “You are right about that.”  
  
“You want to see anything else?” Dylan asks, then snorts. “I’m sorry, dude, I’m terrible at this.”  
  
“You’re not terrible at it,” Chris says, settling down on the bed. “We haven’t even gotten started.”  
  
He hears Dylan suck in a breath. “I’m crazy awkward, though. I always – I say stupid stuff, I’m like this when they interview me, like they’ll ask me questions and I’ll babble for like ten minutes and I don’t even know what I’m saying, it’s the dumbest—”  
  
“I want to slide my hands over your stomach,” Chris says, “and grip your hips. I want to hold you down and put my mouth on you.”  
  
Dylan coughs. When he speaks his voice is rough. “You – you do?”  
  
Chris feels a power thrill zip through him. “I do. You want me to do that?”  
  
Dylan sounds shaky when he says, “H-hell yes I do.”  
  
“Where do you want my mouth?” Chris asks.  
  
There’s a pause before Dylan says, “I – uh. Kind of everywhere.”  
  
Chris smothers a laugh. “Nowhere specific?”  
  
“When you – when you licked down around my – fuck, there is no way to say that that’s sexy. Can you just come over?”  
  
Chris’s breath catches. “Right now?”  
  
“Right now. My house is empty.”  
  
“I’m wearing my pajamas.”  
  
“I don’t care. I’m…not wearing pajamas.”  
  
“What are you wearing?” Chris asks.  
  
“I’m not going to tell you. Come over and see.”  
  
Chris glances at his clock. It’s 10:52 pm. He has a 8 am call.  
  
“I’ve got Diet Coke,” Dylan says.  
  
“Gimme twenty minutes.”  
  
*  
  
“ _Oh my God_ ,” Dylan breathes.  
  
Chris licks around the head of his cock, sucking down the sides. Dylan’s making hot little gasping noises, his hands fisting in his sheets. He’s pink and flushed across his bare chest and his nipples are tight points under Chris’s twisting fingers. Every time Chris touches him he moans.  
  
“You are so good at that,” Dylan says. “ _Damn_.”  
  
“You failed at phone sex,” Chris says. “I’m not sure why this means you should be rewarded.”  
  
“Because I’m hot?” Dylan squeaks, and it sounds like a question. His hips are moving against the bed as he struggles not to thrust up, and yeah. Dylan is hot. Dylan is definitely hot. Dylan’s shoulders are wide and his waist is narrow and his hands are too big for the rest of him. Chris wants them all over his body.  
  
“You are hot,” Chris says, his voice low. “You are totally hot.”  
  
“Really?” Dylan says, propping himself up on his elbows, and Chris sucks all of his cock into his mouth at once, making Dylan flop down on the bed again with a groan.  
  
Chris takes Dylan apart in stages, makes him shaky first, then breathless, then desperate, teasing him with alternating licking and sucking. He keeps him pinned to the bed for the first stage, but when Dylan starts making sounds like he’s dying, Chris surfaces long enough to say, “You can fuck my mouth.”  
  
“No way,” Dylan exhales, his eyes comically wide.  
  
Chris brushes his hand across his mouth to dry some of the wetness there and Dylan tracks his movement with his eyes.   
  
“Has nobody ever—“ Chris says.  
  
“No way,” Dylan repeats, shaking his head, and Chris smiles as he goes down again. Dylan whimpers. “You can’t just say that, man, that is not—”  
  
“Dylan,” Chris says, gripping the base of his cock and lifting his other hand off his hip. “You can. I mean it.”  
  
“No  _way_ ,” Dylan says, and arches his spine.  
  
*  
  
“I’m not telling you how to get your swerve on,” Amber says. “I am on Team Get Chris Colfer Laid, believe me. I’m just jealous, honey.”  
  
“Don’t be jealous,” Chris says, flicking through the pages of his script. Dammit, he never finished writing that chapter yesterday. His booty call totally threw off his schedule.  
  
“Why, is it not—” Amber says, but when Chris looks up at her, she smirks.  
  
“Oh, no,” Chris says, lips twisting up. “It is.”  
  
“He is so cute,” Amber says. “Built kind of slim, but with muscle—”  
  
“Oh, he has muscle,” Chris says, and Amber pinches him in the shoulder.  
  
“Get it, baby,” Amber says.  
  
When Kevin walks by and gives him a wordless high five ten minutes later, Chris can’t even find it in himself to be upset that everyone always knows his business.  
  
*  
  
 _wanna go to a baseball game_? Dylan texts him around dinnertime, and Chris has a moment of disconnect.   
  
 _baseball_? Chris texts back.   
  
_oh god, do you hate baseball? i’m sorry, nevermind, forget i said anything._  
  
Chris feels like shit then, because how rude is that? Just because he’s not much of a sports fan doesn’t mean he can’t learn to like it.  
  
 _no, it’s okay_ , he texts back.  _we can go? if it works with my shooting schedule and stuff.  
  
mets vs. dodgers on saturday night_ , Dylan says.  _only if you want to, tho, no pressure._  
  
Chris doesn’t have to be on set on Saturday. He doesn’t even have any events to go to. It’s like fate.  
  
He tries to shake his weird feelings about how this might sort of constitute a date and types back,  _let’s do it_.  
  
:) :) :), Dylan texts back.  
  
Cory squeezes his shoulder as he passes by, then glances down at Chris’s face. “You all right, man?”  
  
“Dylan wants to go to a baseball game with me,” Chris says.  
  
Cory gives him a little half-smile and pats him gently. “Hey, date a bro, get a bro, dude.”  
  
*  
  
“What does a person wear to a baseball game?” Chris asks Ashley, who is bouncing on his bed and watching him freak out with an expression that manages to be both smug and amused.  
  
“Clothes?” Ashley says. “You’re already fucking this dude, why do you care?”  
  
“I just realized I don’t even know what team he roots for,” Chris says, slipping a shirt back into his closet. He was not kidding about this disaster. He wonders if you can hire people to re-organize your closets.  
  
“You are kind of a slut, aren’t you?” Ashley says.  
  
“It hasn’t come up yet!” Chris exclaims.  
  
“Well, something has definitely come up,” Ashley says, grinning.  
  
Chris throws the nearest shirt at her, which just makes her laugh harder.   
  
“No, I like this, though,” Ashley says. “You are way less tense when you’re getting laid on the regular.”  
  
“Everyone is weirdly invested in my sex life,” Chris says. “I’m trying not to think about it too much.”  
  
“Does he make you want to put on some Usher and love him down?” Ashley asks. “This is an important question.”  
  
Chris tries to hide his blush. “I would  _never_  put on Usher.”  
  
“ _You got it, you got it bad_ ,” Ashley sings in her best R&B soul voice, which is about as good as Chris’s – i.e., not good at all.  
  
“Baseball,” Chris says. “I don’t know anything about baseball, Ash.”  
  
Ashley leans forward and catches Chris’s wrist. “Hey. Don’t stress.”  
  
“But I—”  
  
“Let him teach you,” Ashley says.  
  
Chris stares at her, open-mouthed.  
  
“Seriously,” Ashley says. “Guys love that.”  
  
*  
  
“Die-hard Mets fan,” Dylan says. He’s practically vibrating. “I’ve been a Mets fan since I was a kid.”  
  
“That seems kind of…random,” Chris says.  
  
They’re wedged into the narrow plastic seats. Chris can feel Dylan’s heat and it’s making him dizzy. Dylan’s so cute, though, wearing his Mets jersey and hat and flushed with excitement. Chris can’t even think dirty thoughts about him because he’s so adorable.  
  
“I lived in Jersey until I was twelve,” Dylan says. “So, not totally random.”  
  
“That makes sense,” Chris says. “I was never really a baseball fan. I guess I would’ve been a Dodgers fan. Or maybe the Giants.”  
  
“The Mets are the best,” Dylan says, very seriously. “Except for when they are the worst.”  
  
Chris laughs. “This could apply to so much of life.”  
  
“Baseball is a great metaphor for life,” Dylan says. “Like – we spend so much time stranded on bases waiting for somebody to throw us home, but sometimes you just gotta steal what you want, or you’ll never get anywhere.”  
  
Chris nods. “Yeah, true enough.”  
  
Chris doesn’t know why he does what he does next.  
  
“I feel like people use baseball for a different kind of metaphor,” he says, and places his hand on Dylan’s thigh.  
  
Dylan’s mouth drops open, and okay, maybe Chris can think dirty thoughts about him. Dylan’s mouth is like an engraved invitation for dirty thoughts. An invitation addressed directly to Chris.  
  
“Oh, man,” Dylan says, eyelids fluttering closed. “Don’t do that.”  
  
Chris isn’t going to do anything crazy. They’re very much in public, and if Chris has learned anything the last few years, it’s that he needs to be careful no matter where he is. Everyone’s got a camera, a Twitter account, and an agenda.  
  
He presses his fingers in, just enough for Dylan to feel it, and lifts his hand away.  
  
“Later,” he murmurs.  
  
“Fuck,” Dylan exhales, ducking his head. “I have never been so sad baseball has nine innings.”  
  
*  
  
“You are an asshole,” Dylan tells him as he pushes Chris’s jacket off his shoulders and bites him at the juncture between his neck and shoulder.  
  
They’re in the parking lot of the stadium, which is not the smartest place to be doing this, but Dylan’s car has tinted windows and nine innings is a long fucking time to wait.  
  
“I’m an asshole?” Chris says, gasping as Dylan scrapes his teeth over his pulse point. “You were the one who wanted to go to a baseball game.”  
  
Dylan draws back, eyes flicking up and down like he’s trying to read his face. “Did you not want to go? You totally didn’t have to go.”  
  
Dylan is so sweet. Chris just wants to hug him sometimes, but then he’s usually distracted by other things he wants to do to him.  
  
“No, no, I learned a lot,” Chris says. “I had a – a Dodger dog?”  
  
“You had, like, three bites of a Dodger dog,” Dylan says. He’s playing with the hem of Chris’s shirt.  
  
“Well, it was kind of gross,” Chris says.  
  
“They are kind of gross,” Dylan agrees.  
  
“It was cool to see you so excited,” Chris says.  
  
Dylan’s gaze catches on Chris’s. He slides Chris’s hand from his waist into his lap. He’s hard under Chris’s fingers.  
  
“I was definitely excited,” Dylan says.  
  
“How about let’s go somewhere that we’re less likely to get arrested,” Chris says.  
  
“Where’s the fun in that?” Dylan says, but he grins and flicks on the ignition.  
  
*  
  
By the time they’ve pulled into Dylan’s driveway, Chris is gasping with laughter. Dylan has the radio turned all the way up and is singing along to R Kelly at high volume. For a certain definition of “singing.”  
  
“ _Sipping on coke and rum, I’m like so what I’m druuunk, it’s the freakin’ weekend, baby I’m about to have me some fuuuuun_ —”  
  
“I can’t believe we’ve had sexual relations,” Chris chokes out.  
  
“What are you talking about, R Kelly is the bomb,” Dylan says, bouncing in his seat. “ _Round about four you got to clear the lobby, take her to the room so you can_ —”  
  
“We’re here,” Chris says, huffing out a breath. “Please stop.”  
  
Dylan leans across the gear shift and kisses Chris then, full on the mouth. It makes Chris shake. Dylan hasn’t been the one to initiate most of their physical contact, a fact that Chris chalked up to this being Dylan’s first time for a lot of stuff with a guy, but when he pulls away his eyes are sparkling and he doesn’t look afraid at all.  
  
“You’re ridiculous,” Chris says, and Dylan just grins and unbuckles Chris’s seatbelt.  
  
“Hey, so,” Chris hears someone call from nearby. “You guys can totally come inside if you want. Or you can stay in the car if you want to keep macking in there or whatever—”  
  
Dylan’s face falls. “Goddammit—”  
  
There’s a tapping on the window. “Seriously, guys, it’s—”  
  
“Posey, you fucktard,” Dylan says, pushing open his door and getting out. “Why are you even here? You said you were going out with Seana.”  
  
“She had a thing,” Chris hears Posey say.   
  
Chris debates for a moment whether he should get out of the car, but Posey obviously knows Chris is there. He shoves open the door and climbs out, hoping the flush in his cheeks isn’t too obvious in the glow of streetlamps.  
  
“What’s up, man,” Posey says, reaching out to shake Chris’s hand, but when Chris takes his hand he pulls him into a hug, slapping him on the back. Chris smothers a squeak of surprise.  
  
Tyler Posey is cute, dark-haired and well-built with a wide, bright smile.   
  
“Nice to meet you,” Chris says.  
  
“Nice to meet you too, dude,” Posey says. “It’s like Dylan’s been keeping you a secret, so glad to finally see you in the flesh.”  
  
Dylan’s shooting Posey daggers across the car, but Chris says, “This is a great place.”  
  
“Even better from the inside,” Posey says, and trots off to the door. “You want a beer or what?”  
  
Dylan gives Chris a desperate  _I’m so sorry_  look, but Chris shrugs. He can handle a little delayed gratification, and he likes the idea of making Dylan beg later.  
  
“I’ll take a beer,” Chris says, smiling at Posey, and when his back is turned, he mouths, Stay excited at Dylan.  
  
Dylan crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue.   
  
*  
  
“Fuuuuuck,” Dylan groans as Chris draws his fingers through the come on Dylan’s stomach.   
  
They’re both sweaty and mostly naked, except Dylan is still wearing one sock and his boxers are twisted around his ankle. Dylan’s eyes are heavy-lidded and his lips are puffy and he looks ready to pass out.   
  
Chris congratulates himself on a job well done.  
  
“You really are good at that,” Dylan says, echoing his thoughts.  
  
“Good at what, exactly?” Chris says, lifting one finger to his mouth and licking it, which makes Dylan’s eyelashes flutter.  
  
“All of it,” Dylan sighs. “ _All_  of it. All the parts.”  
  
“Well, thank you,” Chris says.  
  
Dylan watches him from under his eyelashes, and Chris feels heat rise in his cheeks. It’s weird how he can be completely fine jerking Dylan off but the second he looks at him like that, Chris gets embarrassed.  
  
“Come here,” Dylan says, reaching out with both arms, and even though they’re both gross and sticky, Chris obeys, moving in close.   
  
Dylan smells like the ballpark, salty and a tiny bit like smoke, and Chris falls asleep counting his breaths against his neck, in and out.  
  
*  
  
When Chris wakes up Dylan is asleep on top of him, head resting on his chest. He tries to move as little as possible, using one hand to locate his phone in the sheets. He has seven text messages. The first is from Ashley, saying:  _so when’s the wedding?_  
  
Chris blinks. Ashley’s pasted a link into the message, and his clicks on it with some trepidation.  
  
 **TMZ.COM  
  
TV CROSSOVER BALLPARK ROMANCE?**  
  
 _Golden Globe-winning quadruple threat and Glee star Chris Colfer – actor/singer/dancer/author – was sighted last night taking in a ball game with Teen Wolf hottie Dylan O’Brien. The two shared a Dodger Dog, though Dylan – a long-time Mets fan – wasn’t rooting for the home team. TMZ wonders what team Dylan’s playing for, considering how cozy he seemed with Most Eligible Gay Bachelor Colfer. Don’t be shy, boys…_  
  
The picture that accompanies the story is a shot of them talking to each other, Dylan’s hand on Chris’s arm, Chris’s head tipped back as he laughs. Dylan’s looking at him like Chris hung the moon.  
  
Chris watches Dylan breathe through his open mouth, his fingers curled around Chris’s bicep.   
  
He thinks:  _Shit_.  
  
*  
  
“I mean, it doesn’t matter, does it?” Darren asks, passing Chris a can of Diet Coke without being asked. This is why he and Chris are friends. “If people think you’re dating? Are you dating?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Chris says.  
  
Darren raises an eyebrow. “Not  _exactly_?”  
  
“It’s more of an ‘enjoying each other’s company’ kind of situation,” Chris says.  
  
“So you’re having a lot of sex,” Darren fills in.  
  
Chris smacks him on the arm. “Don’t be crude.”  
  
“Well, what kind of enjoying are you doing?” Darren says. “Because I feel like it’s probably not Xbox and skateboarding.”  
  
“No,” Chris says, playing with a thread on his shirt. “It’s not.”  
  
“But, like, why does it matter?” Darren says. “Because honestly, if you’re okay with it then—”  
  
“I don’t know if  _he’s_  okay with it, though,” Chris says. “He’s never dated a guy before, and – I mean, maybe he doesn’t want to be labeled that way or whatever.”  
  
“I think if he’s enjoying your company then he should be man enough to say he’s enjoying your company,” Darren says. “Though you don’t have to tell anyone anything if you don’t want, obviously.”  
  
Chris feels a smile curl the corner of his mouth. He does love Darren sometimes. A lot of the time, if he’s being honest.  
  
“Did he say he didn’t want to be labeled as gay?” Darren asks.  
  
What Dylan had actually said when Chris showed him the link was  _Whoa, dude, I’m on TMZ!_  And then he’d shown it to Posey, who said it was awesome, and that Chris was boosting Dylan’s celebrity status for sure.  
  
It’s possible Chris is overthinking this.  
  
“I might be overthinking this,”Chris says.  
  
“Hey, as long as you’re enjoying each other’s company in a way that’s safe and protected—” Darren says, and this time Chris smacks him so hard he groans.  
  
*  
  
Chris is beginning to wonder if maybe Dylan was more affected by the TMZ thing than he let on, because he doesn’t hear from him for a couple of days. But then it’s Thursday and he’s wrapping up a long day on set and his phone buzzes with a message that says,  _bbq tomorrow at our place? bring a friend._  
  
Chris always brings a friend to parties where he doesn’t know many people. He likes a buffer, and he knows exactly who he’s bringing to this one.  
  
“You don’t have plans tomorrow night,” he tells Darren, who’s changing out of his Blaine clothes in his trailer.  
  
“I don’t?” Darren says.  
  
“You have plans with me,” Chris says. “You’re going to come to this barbeque at Dylan’s.”  
  
“Am I the buffer?” Darren asks, face lighting up. “Do I get to be the buffer this time?”  
  
“Yes,” Chris says. “Don’t get too excited, it’s creepy.”  
  
“But I am excited,” Darren says. “I’m an excellent buffer.”  
  
Darren is an excellent buffer, because Darren can make conversation with a rock. He’s endlessly charming, and everyone loves him. Sometimes he doesn’t bring Darren to things for precisely that reason – he always gets upstaged. If he wants a partner, he brings Amber or Ashley. If he wants to get drunk, he brings Lea.  
  
“I appreciate your assistance,” Chris says, backing out of his trailer.  
  
“Always glad to be of service, sir!” Darren calls after him, and Chris smiles because he knows Darren means it, the weirdo.  
  
*  
  
It rapidly becomes apparent when Chris and Darren arrive at Dylan and Posey’s that this is going to be a certain kind of party.  
  
“You get high?” Posey asks Darren the second they step through the doorway, and okay, wow. That was quick.  
  
“Dude, totally,” Darren says, and hugs Posey like they’ve known each other for years. Posey is telling him something about the weed he got, how it’s an extra special varietal or whatever, but Chris is distracted because there’s a drum set in the middle of the living room and Dylan’s playing it, all flying limbs and rhythmic movement and God, Chris wants to  _lick_  him.  
  
“Drinks out in the cooler and in the kitchen and, like, everywhere,” Posey is telling them. “We’re starting to get the grill going – Colton is some kind of grill scientist, I don’t know, he’s a freak, but he’s doing that. You guys play music, yeah?”  
  
 _Oh no_ , Chris thinks as he watches Darren’s face light up. He’s never going to be able to get Darren to leave. He’s going to have to live here forever, and then who will take care of Brian?  
  
“You got quite the set up here,” Darren says, like a kid at Christmas, and Posey starts talking about bands and instruments and Chris knows this conversation could last for nine years at least, so he squeezes Darren’s arm and goes to talk to Dylan.  
  
It should make him want to make out with Dylan less, seeing him like this – he’s clearly as high as a kite and in his own world, tapping out a jazzy beat as a guy next to him with a mohawk fiddles with the knobs on an electric guitar and adjusts amp levels. He sees Chris and grins, and he’s so happy and so loose. Chris wants to tie him down to something and make him crazy.  
  
“Hello,” Chris says. “You didn’t tell me you played drums.”  
  
“I do!” Dylan says. “Probably I’m not that great at it but whatever, I play drums in a band. The guys are all here tonight and we might play, I don’t know, we always plan to play and then things get crazy and we don’t. You should sing!”  
  
 _Oh dear_ , Chris thinks, and says, “I brought Darren.”  
  
“You and Darren should sing!” Dylan says. “I watched that video of you guys singing together, like – that Pink song? I was touched, it was really touching.”  
  
Chris doesn’t even know what to say to that. “You’re watching Glee videos now?”  
  
“Just the ones Posey sends me,” Dylan says. “They’re all awesome, you’re so awesome.”  
  
Dylan’s got his hand on Chris’s arm and he’s looking at him with this wide-eyed wonder that makes Chris’s chest ache.   
  
Chris was not prepared for this.  
  
“I’m going to go mingle,” Chris says, and moves away before Dylan can draw him back.  
  
*  
  
Colton is kind of freakishly good at grilling things, but then again, Colton seems like the kind of guy who is freakishly good at everything.  
  
“I used this marinade that’s amazing, soy-based but not too salty,” Colton’s telling him. “It’s very flavorful.”  
  
“Mmm,” Chris says, non-commital.   
  
He’s watching Darren talk to Holland across the yard. Holland was super-friendly to him when they were introduced, but she looks like she wants to eat Darren. Like Darren would be way tastier than any soy-based marinade.  
  
They’re playing a reggae version of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The 59th Street Bridge Song” on the huge speakers, which might be the most stoned song Chris has ever heard. He has a feeling if he keeps hanging out with Dylan and Posey, though, he’ll learn things.  
  
“Yeah?” he hears, and suddenly Darren is at his side, holding out a joint.  
  
“I don’t know—“  
  
“Chris,” Darren says, looking at him with his wide, earnest eyes. “You really do.”  
  
Dylan explodes out of the back door onto the patio, chased by Posey, who tackles him to the ground. The two of them wrestle for a few seconds before Posey pins Dylan down with his elbow. Dylan’s making gasping, giggling sounds, and Chris’s breath hitches.  
  
 _Oh, what the hell_ , Chris thinks, and takes the joint.  
  
*  
  
“No, but really,” Dylan says. “Where did you learn how to do that? How are you so good at it?”  
  
Dylan’s sprawled across his bed with his head tipped back on Chris’s chest, the long line of his throat exposed. Chris wants to lick him, but that seems like effort and he’s soooo high, Jesus.  
  
“Are you asking me how I got to be good at sex?” Chris asks.  
  
Dylan flops over on his stomach so he’s on top of Chris, his mouth dangerously close to Chris’s. “Maaaaybe.”  
  
“I don’t even know how to answer that,” Chris says, though he feels flushed with the praise. “How did you get to be so good at acting?”  
  
“You don’t even know if I’m good at acting,” Dylan says. “You don’t watch MTV, remember?”  
  
Chris huffs out a breath. Dylan’s pupils are blown and his lips are parted. “I…maybe caught up this week.”  
  
Dylan’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”  
  
Chris doesn’t sleep much, and  _Teen Wolf_  is awfully easy to watch. Everyone’s so attractive and nothing makes much sense and Dylan is fabulous, funny and sweet and occasionally heart-wrenching in unexpected ways.  
  
“You’re really good,” Chris says. “You’re a natural.”  
  
“I’m a joker,” Dylan says. “It’s not hard, the stuff I do. Not like what you do.”  
  
“What I…”  
  
Chris raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Okay, so I lied before about watching videos,” Dylan says. “I skipped some episodes that you weren’t really in much, but I watched…almost all of them, I think. You wear some crazy clothes.”  
  
“No shit,” Chris drawls. “I can’t believe you—“  
  
“I maybe jerked off after I watched that episode where you did ‘Born This Way,’” Dylan says. “Because that was hot. Oh fuck, did I say that out loud?”  
  
Chris laughs, sliding one hand under the thin fabric of Dylan’s t-shirt. “You’re weird.”  
  
“I like you,” Dylan tells him, “and you’re really good at sex.”  
  
Chris bites Dylan’s lower lip, making him shudder.   
  
“There’s still a party going on, I think,” Chris says. “Do you care?”  
  
He scratches his hand over Dylan’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract under his fingers. Dylan’s eyelids flutter, and God, his eyelashes are a sin. He could give Darren a run for his money.  
  
“No,” Dylan slurs. “Not really.”  
  
“Dude,” comes Posey’s voice from the hallway. “I’m not going to come in but I’m just letting you know that Colton’s finally made actual food to eat if you—“  
  
“Go away, man,” Dylan says, yanking off his shoe and throwing it at the door, and Chris hears Posey’s easy laughter followed by the door shutting.  
  
“Where were we?” Chris asks, and Dylan kisses him, tongue flicking across his lips, hand firm in his hair.  
  
*  
  
  
“Do you want to fuck me?”  
  
Dylan makes a noise that sounds like something between a growl and a groan. He’s naked under Chris and Chris’s hand is making slick movements over his cock.  
  
“Are you really asking me that?” Dylan asks.  
  
Chris tightens his grip, and Dylan exhales, hard. Chris likes this. The weed has stretched out the time so it feels like they’ve been kissing and touching and teasing for hours. Plus Dylan’s so gorgeous with his mouth open like that.  
  
“The answer is yes,” Dylan says, breathless. “In case you’re wondering.”  
  
Chris’s stomach does a kicking flip. Dylan bites his lip and thrusts his hips up.  
  
“How do we do this?” Dylan asks.  
  
“Have you never—“  
  
“Don’t make fun of me, dude,” Dylan says. “I will learn, I swear to God.”  
  
Chris laughs. “Do you have—“  
  
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Dylan says, reaching over onto his nightstand and nearly dislodging Chris in the process. Chris lets go of his cock and traces the ridge of Dylan’s hipbone idly instead. Bullshit that Dylan doesn’t work out. He totally works out.  
  
Dylan holds out the lube, and Chris represses his smart-ass remarks. Dylan looks so earnest, like all he wants is to get this right, and it’s endearing and adorable and kind of hot, too.  
  
“You want me to do it?” Chris asks.  
  
Dylan swallows. “Maybe if you could show me what – what you like and I’ll…I don’t know, join in?”  
  
Chris likes the sound of that. He feels self-conscious as he coats two fingers and gets up onto his knees, but Dylan’s breath is coming fast and he’s curling his hands in the sheets and Chris likes this. He’s a performer. He likes having an audience that can’t look away.  
  
“Have you done this to a girl?” Chris asks.  
  
Dylan nods. “I mean – not exactly but—”  
  
“You want to go slow,” Chris says. He inhales and slides a finger inside himself, shifting until it’s a good angle.  
  
Dylan’s watching, lips parted. Chris adds another finger, and that’s when he can really feel it. He never knows how to explain it to his straight friends, how good the stretch is. That there’s a release in it, even when he tightens around his fingers.  
  
“Oh,” Dylan breathes, and Chris licks his lips.  
  
Dylan moves forward, hands coming to rest on Chris’s hips, and kisses Chris hard, tongue exploring his open mouth. Chris slides his fingers in and out, feeling Dylan’s hands on his hips, and when they part for air Chris murmurs,”You want to help?”  
  
“Fuck yes,” Dylan whispers, and Chris wraps his hand around Dylan’s wrist and coats Dylan’s fingers with the lube still left on his fingers.  
  
Dylan keeps one hand on Chris’s hip, fingertips pressed in deep enough to bruise. When he pushes his fingers in the angle’s better than Chris could get himself.   
  
“ _God_ ,” Chris breathes, head tipping back, and Dylan crooks his fingers and hits that spot. Chris gasps. Dylan makes an alarmed sound and says, “Did I—“  
  
“No, no, it’s good,” Chris says, pushing himself down on Dylan’s fingers, and Dylan makes a strangled noise. “It’s so good, don’t stop.”  
  
Dylan fucks his fingers in and licks at Chris’s neck, following the trail of sweat down to between his collarbones. Everything feels so intense, concentrated in the center of him, and he almost comes when Dylan murmurs, “Another finger?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Chris says, and Dylan chuckles against his neck.  
  
“So polite,” he says.  
  
“Never be rude to someone who’s fingering you,” Chris says, his voice thin. “This is what I’ve learned.”  
  
“Awesome,” Dylan says, slicking his fingers with more lube and pushing them into Chris. “Tell me if this is okay.”  
  
“Better than okay,” Chris says. His skin feels like it’s humming. “You still want to fuck me?”  
  
“More than ever,” Dylan says, voice husky, and Chris grabs a condom from the bedside table and rips open the packet. He does all of it without moving off Dylan’s fingers, and Dylan murmurs, “You’re one of those people who can, like, put your leg behind your head, aren’t you?”  
  
Chris narrows his eyes, going for bitchy, but Dylan presses his fingers up and fuck, he learns fast. Chris’s breath catches and he braces his hands on the headboard, suddenly struggling for balance.  
  
“It’s hot,” Dylan says. “You’re super-hot. Before, when I thought—”  
  
Dylan stops, looking nervous, and Chris shifts so his fingers slide out. “When you thought what?” he prompts.  
  
“When I thought about guys,” Dylan says, voice soft. “I didn’t – I mean, I didn’t really have a fantasy. But you’re hotter than any fantasy I could’ve had anyway.”  
  
“You don’t have to talk me into bed, you know,” Chris says, tracing a line down Dylan’s chest and circling his belly button. “You’ve already got me here.”  
  
Dylan’s eyes are gold in the low light. “I know. I’m not – I’m not b.s.-ing you, I’m just—“  
  
“Thank you,” Chris murmurs, and Dylan smiles at him, the smile that made Chris go,  _oh_ , at that MTV party.  _And who is this?_  
  
He rolls the condom on carefully, watching as Dylan bites at his lip.  
  
“Don’t make fun of me if I come fast,” Dylan says. “I’ll do better next time.”  
  
“Who says there will be a next time?” Chris says, and lowers himself onto Dylan’s cock without warning. “Maybe this is your one chance to earn it.”  
  
“Ah,  _fuck_ ,” Dylan swears, eyes squeezed shut, and Chris takes a moment to collect himself because God, he feels good. Dylan slides his hands up Chris’s back, fingers still slick from being inside of him, and Chris rocks a bit just to hear him groan.  
  
“What do you think?” Chris says, rolling his hips, and Dylan pants in answer. He can’t even form words. Chris is pretty proud of himself.  
  
Dylan reaches out and curls his hand around Chris’s dick, squeezing, and Chris is on edge before he even knows what’s happening.  
  
“You feel so good,” Dylan whispers. “I could fuck you forever.”  
  
Chris kisses the corner of Dylan’s mouth, then flicks his tongue over the dip of his lip.  
  
“And you said you couldn’t talk dirty,” Chris says, feeling the tremors in Dylan’s abdomen as he tries not to laugh.  
  
*  
  
When Chris emerges from Dylan’s room the next morning, Dylan’s making eggs in the kitchen and Posey is collecting beer cans and stacking them into a little house on their countertop.  
  
Chris knows he must look a mess – he’s fairly sure Dylan left marks on him, and he’s working a serious case of bedhead. The second Posey sees him, though, he grins and gives him a high-five.  
  
“…okay,” Chris says, because he’s not really awake and Posey’s looking very cheerful.  
  
“Dude,” Posey says. “You obviously worked Dylan over because he has never looked like this.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Dylan says, swatting at Posey with his spatula. “You are the worst.”  
  
“I can’t be happy for you?” Posey says innocently. “I’m just happy for you because you obviously needed—”  
  
“Right, so,” Dylan interrupts, and tugs Chris forward and kisses him. It’s not a just a good morning kiss, either, there’s tongue and Dylan’s hand on his hip, pressing into the bruises he left there.  
  
“Wow,” Posey says, stepping backward. “All right then, I’ll just—”  
  
“I needed to do that,” Dylan says. His eyes are shining. “You’re hot when you wake up in the morning, all messy.”  
  
“You like me messy?” Chris asks with a crook of his eyebrow.  
  
“Yeah, I’m just gonna go,” Posey says, and disappears so fast Chris wonders if he’s maybe a bit magical.  
  
Dylan snickers as he flips the eggs in the pan. He keeps his free hand on Chris’s hip, and Chris wonders if he knows what he’s doing to him, if he knows how much this turns him on.  
  
“Messy is nice,” Dylan says. “But I like you every which way.”  
  
Chris feels a flush come over him. Dylan brushes a finger over Chris’s cheek, and Chris counts his eyelashes because he can.


End file.
